


The Secret

by mintchocolate_gelato



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Males, Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Case Fic, Conspiracy, Dubious Consent, Enemies, F/F, F/M, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega!Moriarty, Omegaverse, Smut, Unrequited Love, nature made them do it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintchocolate_gelato/pseuds/mintchocolate_gelato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Alpha/Omega verse. The calling of an omega in heat had never struck Mycroft as much as it did inside the MI6 quarters, in the cell where James Moriarty was being interrogated. Mating with the most dangerous criminal mind in the world was never part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=106064463#t106064463/) on the KM
> 
> Recommended reading: My take on the omegaverse is [here](http://www.keepandshare.com/doc/3949613/alpha-omega-pdf-may-10-2012-12-41-am-450k?da=y). This is a document than me and my friends created on how we see the Omegaverse ^^
> 
> Lastly huge thank you to [exbex](http://exbex.livejournal.com/) and [Knurlock](http://knurlock.tumblr.com//) for the beta work.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

 

_January 22, 2011_

 

The night was cold and quiet; the only sound was that of the leaves moving with the wind against the branches of the many exotic trees of the big state. There was no moon tonight, nothing that could break through the darkness and incite passion or security. It was horribly boring, and yet something was keeping Olga concealed in between the green bushes completely alert. Her ears were drawn slightly up, like a cat listening for something. Her hands were cold inside her leather gloves, but she had lived for years in a constant state of algidity that she could never get rid of, and it kept her from feeling the real effects of the treacherous English weather. She had a flashlight on the ground beside her that generated just enough light for her to see her hands and feet without drawing the attention of anyone who happened to be passing by -not that anyone would-. The watch on her wrist gave a beep, signaling twelve o'clock.

Witching hour.

The level of alertness in her body skyrocketed and she began searching in every direction in front of her. The boss had told her midnight, sharp, and the boss was never wrong. Olga took her phone out and began dialing the only number on her list of contacts, the boss would be angry that she was calling with no results, but she had to make sure everything was going smoothly.

If something failed it was more than possible that her boss would just decide to get Moran on the job and replace her. But it wasn’t that thought that made her hesitate. He wouldn’t kill her, she was –without meaning arrogance- special, she could do things for him that very few could; she was valuable. But as soon as the job they were doing was done, nothing could ensure her safety, she needed to play it safe until her plan of escaping the United Kingdom and the growing madness and obsession of his boss could be realized. Her phone chirped as she dialed the number, and relief settled in.

_Keep your eyes open. We are waiting.  
JM_

Olga’s fingers pressed the ‘End call’ button before it could connect properly and settled back on her heels. The leaves underneath her trembled slightly, and it took Olga a second to feel the shake of the ground under her body. It wasn’t really moving, but there were sound waves travelling from somewhere close to her location that produced a rumble on the soil around her. It was a sound she recognized, but that she couldn’t place until she saw what produced it. If the light hadn’t been on, she wouldn’t have been able to see the shape of the black car with dark windows that turned the corner barely five meters from where she was. She flashed the flashlight forward and the tire of the car came into view as it drove pass her. Her eyes frantically looked for the plaque number on the back.

Blank.

She reached down as fast as she could for her coat pocket and pulled a small atomizer with a pink cap. The white label read with proud swirly purple letters: ‘Unscented neutralizer’, it was normally meant for omegas who wanted to mask their scent and wear some kind of perfume instead. She sprayed the air around her a few times and then used it on her neck and her hair, the two main spots of her body that produced the pheromones that could out her to anyone. The bottle emptied and she tossed it back inside her trousers and began to move.

The rustle of leaves was hardly a concern; there were many things that lived within these trees, squirrels, a few rabbits. Olga’s feet were fast and light and they followed the car through the darkness, it was a good thing that they seemed to want to go incognito, they had no lights on and that forced them to drive slowly enough for her to catch up.

The car reached the last checkpoint before the road became the main entrance to the state’s manor. A golden gate stood in between the car and the road and a guard with bored expression had a gun in his hand already, but a shot from within the car hit him between the eyes before he could even think to react. Olga made her move.

She slipped out of the bushes enough to be close to the car and crawled cat-like until she was right in front of it. From the inside of her pocket she produced a handgun and loaded it. It felt good, to feel the weight against her hand; she felt safe and secure. Her phone vibrated lightly against her hip; it had received a blank text message from that ‘unidentified’ number her boss always used. Olga took it as her cue and she moved around the side of the car until she was right in front of the driver’s door. It was open. The driver stared at her for a long moment, a tall man with a high tailored suit and dark sunglasses. She pointed the gun at him and made a sign of ‘quiet’ with her index finger in front of her mouth.  Olga sniffed the air around her and the driver. Nothing, not a single trace of pheromones, sweat or even the smell of the leather seats of the car. They had used neutralizer like she had earlier. This made her job harder. She had to make sure it was _him_ , there could be no mistake, her boss had said.

A voice came from behind the car, bored. Maybe it was the voice of the man she was looking for, but she couldn’t tell exactly. “What is taking you so long Wilkins?”

Olga pressed her fingers insistently against her lips to warn him against making any sound and drew back from the car, missing the warmth of the engine almost right away. The driver watched her, or rather, he watched the gun she was holding and sat there paralyzed. Olga could tell the driver had a gun of his own, but reaching for it at this point in this position would be suicide. It didn’t matter, as he was going to die anyway. It was a clean shot to the temple; the bullet went in and out making barely a scratch on the heavy bullet-proof windshield. The driver fell back against his seat, lifeless, the blood slowly sliding down his cheeks.

“Wilkins!” Shouted a female voice from inside the car.

Doors opened, people stepped out, men and women all wearing suits and yielding guns. Shouting orders, sniffing the air for the intruder. Olga cowered against  the front of the car and waited, even with her neutralizer still working they would find her immediately; but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

She stood up, fired three shots randomly, hit a woman right in the shoulder with one, the other two got lost in the crowd. The response was immediate, six guns turned to her, all of them aiming for her head. One of them fired, landed next to her foot barely missing it. She fired back but Olga had moved already. Another shot, this one actually hit something but for a second adrenaline was all she could feel. The shoulder, left one, bullet went in and out and the wound was bleeding profusely, her own gun fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Someone shouted at the distance, but she couldn’t make out the words .The bullet had gone in and out leaving a tiny hole in both sides of her shoulder, she was losing so much blood. If she wanted the job done before passing out she needed to act fast. She made a run for the biggest tree in sight and hid behind it, taking out a small green chemical grenade. The gas inside would clear the air and piercingly make every smell stronger to the nose of any normal person, leading to an acute sensory overload that would give her enough time to complete her job. They were banned in this country and almost every country out there, but the black market and his boss were unstoppable. They were coming for her, she barely had time to look at them, six bodies all advancing towards her with raised guns, before she let the grenade go.

At first nothing happened, the green device merely rolled a few meters and stopped right in front of one of the men in suits. Something clicked and then opened. Gas, of a pinkish colour, filled the air around, and the men in suits stood paralyzed for a moment before the coughing and vomiting began. Olga smirked and came out of her hiding place with a hand placed firmly on top of the injury of her shoulder, making a poor attempt to stop the bleeding. She sniffed, once, twice. Let the effects of the gas wash over her, the air was clear and pure and she could smell everything.  The pines, the Earth, the feathers of the birds, the petrol of what made up the tires of the cars, the metal, the plastic, the oil. She caught a sweet smell, the driver’s blood and sweat, metallic, he was an Alpha, not extremely dominant but mated. A natural pang of guilt went through her, nature’s cry that she had dared destroy a mated pair, that she had just left an omega without their other half. It didn’t last, she was a paid assassin, and natural empathy was now beyond her.

Many of the agents had passed out behind her, and the ones that remained lucid were too weak to even hold up their guns. Three omegas, four Alphas all of them mated; they would not die but they would be useless for a few weeks to come. Olga walked right pass them and kneeled down close to the body of a woman, she had her eyes wide open, pupils dilated; her body was trying hard to fight the smells coming at her. Olga used her good hand to take the gun out of her fingers and aimed in front of her. She got closer to the black car, following the pungent, sickly sweet smell coming off it. It would have hurt her nose without the effects of the gas, but with that added, it made her dizzy. It was the scent she hadn't managed to catch earlier of the Alpha, extremely dominant, unmated, calling her. She was sure that if she hadn’t been using suppressants for years, the smell of this person would have made her go into heat out of cycle. She knew it was not actually possible for that to happen, but her body was tricking her into thinking it was. There was a buzzing in her ears that wouldn't stop.

This was her true mission. She didn't hesitate; her hand tore open the door of the car, her nails leaving small indents on the plastic of the door handle. The smell was stronger inside. She had been expecting that but her body answered nonetheless. Her hand closed even tighter on the gun and she slid inside the car with ease. What Olga found inside was not what she expected, her boss had told her about her target. A man, in his early forties, with an expensive suit he didn't deserve to be wearing, without hair around the edges of his head and personality, a huge strong personality.

What greeted her instead was this: There was a woman sitting on the car seat. Her hair was brushed to the side, her makeup clean. She was looking down at her phone, texting happily to some unknown recipient. Olga stared then sniffed the air around her; she caught no sign of the particular scent of this woman, only the overwhelming smell of the Alpha she was looking for.

"Where is Mycroft Holmes?!" Olga demanded. In spite of the anger, her voice sounded ragged, worn. She had lost so much blood and she didn't even have a cloth to wrap around the wound. But she raised the gun to the woman's face and pressed on, hoping she sounded threatening enough. "Where is Mycroft Holmes?"

The woman looked up from her phone and smiled at her, all teeth.

"Mr. Holmes is not available at the moment; would you like me to give him a message? He'll be having a meeting with Mister Moriarty shortly."

Olga's eyes widened, realization hitting her on the face like a bucket of cold water. She was slow; the wound was numbing the rest of her senses. If it hadn't been for the loss of blood, she should have realized that the sounds of the background were those of a helicopter, and that this assault had been a lot easier than she had been told it would be. Mycroft Holmes was not here, only his scent remained, and he was not coming. This was a trap. Olga pulled back from the woman faster than she should have managed on her weakened stay. She paid the other no mind, and instead fished her own phone out from the pocket of her trousers. She didn't bother to check if the other woman was armed... she should have.

_It's a trap. He is coming from another direction. Run.  
Olga_

The mistake of looking down cost her greatly; her face was pressed roughly against the seat with something hard and dusty sooner than she managed to look up. It was a shoe, the high heel was digging into her throat and the sole dug painfully on her cheek. The woman was holding her phone and a knife in her hand, the blade was shiny but not new. Recently polished which meant it was put to use very often. Olga shivered; she could stand a chance against a knife any day, but she had lost so much blood and closing her eyes sounded much more appealing every minute. She just wanted to sleep.

The response of her boss came almost immediately, and that was not a good sign. She swallowed hard; what would happened to her now? She had failed her mission, and her boss was not known for his mercy. For once in her life she didn't think being special would save her; James Moriarty would kill her as soon as he found out Olga had been captured.

But she didn't get to see the message; the woman holding her down snatched her phone out of her hand and looked at it, then smiled.

"Well well, it looks like some friends may come to get you, but we can't have that can we?"

Olga had only a few seconds to feel relieved that someone was coming to get her, but the sole of the shoe fell down hard against her temple, and knocked her out even more. The pain was shallow and it produced a funny buzzing inside her ears. Her vision went blurry and this time she knew there was no getting up.

 

*******

**  
**

Inside the manor, James Moriarty sat on his red velvet chair in front of a recently lit fireplace. He had just finished texting his agent with a false promise of rescue. She had served her purpose, but he didn't need her alive; it was better if she perished.

“You are letting them take you” A voice behind Moriarty whispered.

“Seb~” He answered, his voice dragged enough that it almost sounded like a purr. “Your brilliant deductions interrupt my thinking~”

“Why are we doing this then? Why are we fighting them if you are going to go with them at the end Jim? You sent Olga after them; you know how hard it was to find someone like her”

 “You have no vision Sebastian. So boring.” Replied Moriarty “This is all part of the game. I can’t let him think I’m going willingly can I?”

"You never did this with the previous safe houses they broke into."

Moriarty groaned impatiently and rolled his eyes. He pocketed his phone again and turned his chair to face Sebastian Moran, who sat on a chair against the wall close to the nearest exit of the room. As always his right-hand didn't understand. That's why he was his left, and his right one was his own. Since the incident with the plane and Irene Adler the government hounds had been hot on his tracks, but it wasn't _him_ , it was not the ice-man and he would not go with anyone else.

"I'm getting bored of this already Sebastian, do I really have to explain everything to you?" Moriarty snarled and rolled his eyes and he popped another piece of gum into his mouth. "He came in person for me today, finally got tired of seeing all others die. I would only go willingly if it was him, but my willingness is not for his eyes Sebastian, not yet."

"Who? Holmes?"

There was a loud noise outside of the room, an explosion of some sort. Moriarty sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes as If frustrated and exasperated.

“And to think it took me years to steal every piece of the art collection in this house. Horrible manners these people have. Now Sebastian, my dear, Hide!” No real concern or worry tinted Moriarty’s voice but he saw Sebastian’s shoulders tense anyway. “You are useless to me if they take you too, I only have one ticket out of there and it has my name on it Sebastian. Now go!”

Sebastian looked at him, really looked. Moriarty noticed the strain of his posture and his throat, there was something he wanted to say, but then he seemed to think better of it and drew back. Moriarty watched him hide among the shadows of the room and head to the back door.

The front door of the room exploded into thousands of pieces as Sebastian closed the door, and from the smoke and ashes Moriarty saw the figure of a man, holding something by his side, a cane of some sort.

“Ah James Moriarty~ We finally meet in person!”

Moriarty smirked snake-like and dangerous. According to the textbooks, his body was meant to yield to the dominance and edge of the voice of an alpha, but he refused to. James Moriarty had never been a normal omega, and he was not about to start now. Instead Moriarty reached for his gun. He hated getting gunpowder on his clothes -it was Vivienne after all- or his fingers but necessity won this one. He pointed to a barely visible shadow behind the man that was speaking to him and fired a single shot. The figure fell to the ground.

“Hello~ Mycroft Holmes. Welcome!”


	2. Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> HUGE thanks to [exbex](http://exbex.livejournal.com/) for betaing for me <333  
> Any mistakes are my own.

**1.**

**  
**

_If I were you and you were me those voices they would cease to be  
They won't be free to torment me again_

 

_February  3 2011_

 

There were many reasons Mycroft Holmes never believed in those conservative minds within the British Government that, even in modern times still held the idea that Omegas were lesser beings, meant to be kept submissive and hidden away. For one his mummy had never been submissive, thank you very much. If anything mummy was one of the most powerful, strongest -and scariest- people he knew; the only one who had the power to make of Mycroft a sobbing mess if she chose the right words. There was also his brother Sherlock, a late bloomer -and celibate- but an Omega nonetheless and also the second most brilliant mind in the country after Mycroft himself.

Over the years Mycroft had always relied on omegas and alphas without much distinction. They had both served him well and failed him roughly the same number of occasions. He held the idea that humans, above anything else, all wanted power and appreciation inside their tiny minds, and so to him they were all idiotic and hopeless; but equal. However, like many Alphas, Mycroft still on occasion caught himself thinking of omegas as soft, compassionate, loving and less likely to hurt a fly. Mycroft did not know how he could still make this mistake when his brother was a close living example that clearly proved how misleading and erroneous this type of thinking was.

And now he was proven wrong again, and not by Sherlock but by his most dangerous enemy. The criminal mastermind James Moriarty.

Thanks to Moriarty, Mycroft had lost more than sixty men, not including the ones that were still in the ICU's of private government hospitals. It had taken him almost a month to finally locate the safe-house that Moriarty was truly using after sending his men to raid four more false ones scattered across the country. He had every reason to believe he was infiltrated by one or two of Moriarty's men, otherwise he found it highly suspicious that miraculously Moriarty had been in the only safe-house Mycroft in person had helped raid.

He was here to see Moriarty now, and by mummy, he was excited. Not only did he want the opportunity to see the man that had ended so many lives behind bars in a white cell -that was the correct sentiment in this situation wasn't it?-. If he was honest with himself he also wanted an insight inside the man's mind. Sherlock and himself possessed a mind similar to Moriarty and could have become criminals on their own right, and no one would have been able to catch them easily. They had chosen the good side, but that didn't mean he was not curious to know what the other -darker side- looked like.

He was also here investigating the rumors that had recently risen in the criminal underground, of a computer program capable of breeching security in the most protected places of the world; a program Moriarty had created. Suddenly it hadn't been enough to watch him from afar as he developed his thin but strong web on the business of criminality. This was a direct threat to National Security and therefore to Mycroft himself.

Mycroft typed the security code on the keypad outside of the secret MI6 building, disguised as a warehouse. Something clicked and a light pointed at the level of his eye; he opened it wide  for the retinal scan and heard the click once more. A robotic voice identified him as Mycroft Holmes: authorized priority ID. And the door opened for him. In the lobby he was told to give up his phone and any weapon he may be carrying. He sighed; the bureaucracy of security bored him. It was power play rather than actual protection, the higher ups wanted to feel like they actually had some control over the lives of those under him; petty, unnecessary and untrue. If anyone had power here it was Mycroft, but he was not about to let that show openly. He took his phone out and texted a quick something to his assistant Anthea before giving it up:

 _Use my other number, forward all my texts there and all my calls to yours. This one will be off._  
MH

He preferred to speak rather than text but something told him Anthea would rather wait outside than be surrounded by all these security guards. She smelled too nice; Mycroft's nose was telling him her heat would be arriving in the upcoming weeks. The thought of other Alphas giving her unwanted attention made him irrationally defensive;  they were not a couple but Mycroft was a rather dominant Alpha and he couldn't help feeling defensive towards the omega that spent most of his days with him. It was better not to stir anything unwanted and messy inside both of them; as far as emotions went irrational jealousy was by far one of the worse.

Mycroft wasn't really interested in the normal relationships and bonds people formed, but he did acknowledge that a bonding would certainly appease the government officials that kept insisting a man of his position should not go so long without forming a traditional nuclear family. Pure strategy and business that happen to involve sex, possibly a child or two. Anthea  was intelligent (more so than average), smart, funny and actually capable of putting up with him unlike everyone else he had met; if there had to be a bonding Mycroft could think of few candidates that met all the requirements closer than Anthea . He should maybe ask her out for a drink sometime with no work between them. It was worth a try since he already knew everything about his assistant's past, it should be rather easier to move on to other things. But this wasn't the right moment to be thinking about this, he didn't want to be distracted, especially not when dealing with a man like Moriarty.

MI6 was rather impressive but after having to walk pass it every day for years, it lost much of its charm. Mycroft was still interested in the technologies being produced here, and on the new substances and chemicals being tested behind glass; but as he watched the monitors beeping and drawing intricate graphics of elements  with simple geometric shapes,  he also realized how dull working here would be. Having to obey every security measurement even though it was a waste of time was something neither Sherlock nor himself had ever been good at.  

It was in these moments that Mycroft saw why Sherlock 'wasted' his life and his intellect with his detective work, if he were to join MI6 or any other 'regular' job, he would be bored to death.  It was only out of pure luck that Mycroft got to play with the big guys and play with the power, but that was his style, not Sherlock's. And Mycroft would like his brother's job more if he didn't despise legwork as much as he did.

The laboratorie,s neatly lined up on top of  each other, opened the way up to a long hallway that ended with four elevators side by side. Two of them, the ones on the left, only traveled up to the offices of the officials, the classrooms, the archives and the libraries. He would not be going there today. Instead Mycroft turned right to one of the other elevators that would take him to the lower floors that made up the basement of the facility.

The underground of MI6 housed fascinating and terrible things; things that, if they were to get out, could threaten the very core of the British nation or even lead it to its destruction. There were more laboratories with the experiments that needed secrecy, weapon trials, viruses and bacteria, animal experimentation. The nation's most valuable, dangerous and key objects, creatures and people, spies from other nations, criminals so dangerous the public knew nothing about them and even war prisoners, were housed here.

A thick silver door that was proudly labelled 'Human affairs' stood to the furthest right when Mycroft stepped out of the elevator. It was flanked by two heavily armed Alpha guards who, the moment they saw, him sniffed the air for any indications of immediate danger. They were trained to separate scents and detect traces of guilt, fear, illegal drugs and a heavy presence of adrenaline in anyone that ventured here. Mycroft showed them his ID, even though they both clearly knew who he was.

The door clicked open when the guards finished their nasal examination and stood back, even a little afraid of him. It paid sometimes to be such a dominant Alpha; he hardly had to do anything but stand in a room and the rest of the Alphas who were less dominant than he would all gravitate towards him and his leadership. It was a handy skill for someone in a _minor_ position in the British Government.

The lights of the hallway turned on as Mycroft walked underneath them, the soles of his shoes making clacking noises against the pristine white floor. He looked at either side of the hallway, watching grey door after grey door pass by until one of them spotting the number '93' appeared to his right.

As soon as Mycroft stood in front of the door a small machine came down from the ceiling and blew air gently on him. It was collecting his scent, he knew; scent was the only thing nowadays that was very hard to fake and replicate. It didn’t matter how much sophistication one put into a disguise, the delicate glands inside the nose of humans were capable of telling when something was off. Underneath the perfume, the cologne or the neutralizers you wore there would always be your natural scent. Mycroft hated how much time this inspections took, but his less rational, more etiquette inclined mind knew that they were necessary. That was the true difference between himself and Sherlock; he understood and was willing to put up with bureaucracy whereas Sherlock did not.  
  
The machine finished its task and drew back, blue letters showing on the panel beside the door showcasing Mycroft’s personal information: His name, his age, his occupation (or apparent occupation anyway), both his sexes and his photograph. It coloured red and disappeared leaving behind the words ‘authorized personnel’ as the door opened in front of him with a click.

The room he found himself in looked almost like a regular office. There was a wooden desk and a large black chair with wheels, a computer sitting on the middle, and month's worth of paperwork and yellow files neatly organized in piles. Mycroft had only look at his surroundings to know a few too many details about the man currently working here.

He stepped closer to the desk and rested most of his weight on the tip of his umbrella.

"Mr. Williams, would you be so kind as to give a run-down of the events of the past three days please. How is our guest doing?" He was sure he could deduce most of it himself, but if giving the illusion of usefulness was important for the ordinary, white collar worker, he decided if it was best to let the man do his job.

The man behind the desk shook slightly -fear-, and stood up. Mycroft knew he could smell anger built up inside him. He made no move to clarify that the emotion was not directed towards him, fear could be an asset when dealing with people he wanted to see moving faster.

"Moriarty refuses to eat Sir, we had given him proper rations like you stated. But he only ever eats the dessert."

"The dessert? Did it ever occur to you Mr. Williams or to any of your workers to give him everything but the dessert? I was under the impression that Mr. Moriarty had no intention of dying here in this cell, therefore I am sure he will eat what we offer when hunger becomes too much to bear."

Williams fidgeted visibly and reached for a yellow report no different in appearance from the ones neatly lined up all over his desk, but much thicker. It contained every piece of information ever collected about James Moriarty.

"I'm assuming you ran the usual tests? His heat cycle, his level of hormones? We don't want any unpleasant surprises do we Mr. Williams?"

"Of course not Sir, that would be unthinkable. We ran all the routine tests; hormone levels indicated Mr. Moriarty had no suppressors or birth control in his system. We started him on birth control pills just in case, but prescribing suppressors when we don't know his medical history may increase the risk of problems, so we are keeping him in minimum doses."

"Is he taking them?"

"It seems like it Sir. We force them down his throat everyday and then check his mouth."

"Did you check his cycle Mr. Williams?" Retorted Mycroft.

"Yes Sir, nothing conclusive, we could only speculate. We don't know when was the last time he had one. We did ask but received no answers as expected. We also asked him if he had taken anything during his previous cycles, but he didn't answer that either."

"And all blood work came back clean? Well, then that's our answer. Suppressors are harmful Mr Williams, as I'm sure you are well aware of, if he took them for extended periods of time it would show on his medical results would it not? We can therefore deduce it has been no more than two years since his last cycle in case he has been taking another kind of drug that does not register in the usual tests, and it is no surprise given his personality and his mind that he may have elected to leave that part of his natural behavior out of his life by utilizing experimental drugs." It reminded Mycroft a bit too much of Sherlock. His brother often experimented with suppressors of his own creation and went a year without a heat cycle, sometimes more. That combined with the drug addiction had made for a very interesting teenage case, a mess really. "Anything else?"

"We found traces of an unknown Alpha, his scent was all over Moriarty's body when we first brought him in. No bond though, but I'm sure you knew that already."

"Mhmmm. It may be in our best interest to find out who is the Alpha in question.  I trust you put people on that already Mr. Williams?"

"Yes Sir, of course. The moment we detected the scent we sent off a team, but it is unlikely to bring results."

"I am aware of that, just keep looking if you please."

Mycroft took Moriarty's file from Williams' desk  and opened it. James Moriarty. There was a small section about the man's childhood and primary school years made up mostly by teachers who remember who he was. Moved from Ireland at age eight. Estranged father, overprotective mother, one older sibling. Bullied, isolated, resentful and with psychotic outbreaks that mostly involved the disappearance of house cats and dogs of the neighborhood.

These pages demonstrated an intellect far superior than those around him. A bored mind, forced to comply with the rules of society, oppressed and resentful. Mycroft was again reminded of his brother, and that was a rather depressing thought that he rather not dwell in. At least Sherlock had John now.




Most of the file, however, centered on the extent of Moriarty's organization and his recent involvement in an assorted number of criminal activities, including the most recent scandal with Bond air and the Woman; but there was so much more as well. Purchases made in the name of  terrorists cells in the Middle East and Spain. Million dollar treaties with the mafia and more arm dealing than Mycroft had seen when investigating the black market of England. It was all rather impressive. And yet, it was nothing, this file represented not even one percent of what Moriarty had achieved in his thirty five years of age

"May I see the latest medical report too?"

"Yes, yes of course."

Mycroft took the yellow envelope from William's trembling hands and caught sight of his wrists normally hidden by the cuffs of his shirt. There were bruises, fresh and purplish. They were made recently, possibly last night. As Mycroft flipped through the medical report he sniffed the air around him discreetly. Williams was a bonded omega, Mycroft had known that, but there were no traces of heat hormones on or in him. That meant those bruises hadn't been caused by the passionate act of mating, or by a lover caught and controlled by his or her instinct. It was possible the couple was into some kind of alternative power play or masochistic dynamic, but the lack of self-confidence Williams displayed made it highly unlikely that it was a healthy one. Who would hurt an omega? They were made to be protected. Mycroft's alpha instincts were telling him to shout bloody murder at whomever had caused this, but he knew better than to let those feelings control him.

He had to be quiet and careful about this, if Williams' Alpha was hurting him then all the power of the law would be against him or her, but if alerted by anything, he may escape. Mycroft took his reserve phone out and typed a quick note to get Anthea to investigate further and, if necessary to remove Williams and his children from their home and keep them safe.

_J. Williams, 42, MI6 headquarters. Investigate.  
MH_

But meanwhile there was an immediate task on which he must focus.

His eyes scanned the pictures taken in the last few days. They were of Moriarty, first as he arrived at MI6, then stripped naked for his routine physical examination. There was -faked- anger on his face, pulling at the lines of his mouth and forehead, but his eyes looked daring. It was a look Mycroft had seen a thousand times on Sherlock when he had to go through something he didn't like just to get what he wanted, except his brother was a lot more vocal about it.

The rest of the pictures were of Moriarty inside his cell. In some of them men or women were sitting across from him. All of them nervous and fidgeting. The report said they were all highly qualified omegas in the arts of physiological profiles and interrogation. But they had all heard of Moriarty's reputation; how could they not? The man was a legend inside MI6 for having breeched British intelligence and security a grand total of six times, and that was only counting the ones he had made no effort to hide.

The notes resulting from the sessions with Moriarty, handwritten in messy scribbles, told him nothing. They were all repetitions of the phrases 'Patient refuses to articulate and cooperate with sessions' , 'Patient shows extreme narcissism', 'Psychopathic behaviour', 'Avoidance personality disorder traits' and 'Further investigation suggested, results inconclusive'. Mycroft rolled his eyes and closed the file loudly. There was nothing he didn't know already,  and he left it on the corner of the table.

"Did you make any attempts to make Moriarty cooperate, Mr. Williams?"

"No sir, we were waiting for you to give us the go."

"Ahh, well no reason to delay this anymore" Mycroft was almost sure it wouldn't work but it was worth a first try, and he would be there to witness it. "But I shall talk to Mr. Moriarty first."

"Are you sure sir?" Williams looked reluctant and nervous, as if he believed Moriarty would somehow outsmart him and kill him in his cell.

"Oh, very sure Mr Williams."

*******

Jim was sitting in the middle of a grey, windowless room. They had moved him again this morning; the last cell apparently was a threat to his safety for having metal bars on the windows. Idiots, all of them, he could escape out of this place if he really wanted to, metal bars or not.

He was bored out of his mind, of course. He even wished they would start torturing him soon, but that was hardly new; these days he was always bored. Sebastian served as a distraction from time to time but even he was getting dull as months wore by.

As a distraction, he had taken to counting and deducing who had been here before him, and why. Again, boringly easy. So far, he had deduced three previous occupants and had a million guesses. There had been an Alpha woman that had left behind her perfume and traces of lipstick on the mattress. A man that had spent a long time on his knees -possibly praying- on the bed, the marks of his bones left behind on the sheets as well as the scent of tobacco and olive oil; most likely a member of the mafia. He played every day or so until it got too dull to bear.

But even with these little distractions the noise inside his head was getting more and more impossible to live with. He was blind to things as whiteness ceaselessly in front of his eyes and it just never stopped. At least on the outside world he’d had Sebastian to toy with, but in here there was no one. The walls talked to him, the furniture seemed to smile and the steps of guards coming down and up the hall never quieted at night. It was driving him more than mad. It was only worth it because it was one more step towards Sherlock Holmes, towards his fall.

Ah Sherlock Holmes, now that was a distraction, a very good one and at times a very annoying one. It was a loose end in Jim's book to have Sherlock alive and breathing and interfering with his plans. It was a problem, the world was vastly boring, but it was still not big enough for two minds like them and he was determined to beat Sherlock Holmes and erase him from the face of the Earth, all of him. _Burn the heart out of you_ , he had said, and that was exactly what he would do. 

There was a laugh inside his head and he found himself smiling while the melody for ‘Voices' came to his lips. The fall, the fall of everything Sherlock knew and loved. It would be so much fun.

The door of the cell creaked open but Jim didn’t stop singing, his lips only grew into a twisted grin filled with demented madness and directed towards the poor trembling omega at the door. Thirty five, first serious job (internship), lives with his parents, single, unbounded, omega, videogame enthusiast, late night.

Ordinary.

Boring.

Boring.

BORING!

The man set a tray with food down on the tiny table in the corner of the room then excused himself without a second glance.

“Byeeeeee. Say hi to mummy and daddy,” sang Jim with the most high-pitched voice he could manage. The man ran down the hall.

He didn’t stand up to examine the food yet. There were two pairs of footsteps coming closer once more; they weren’t done with him yet. Two omegas, blonde and brunette, highly trained in security, armed, none of them showed fear like the incompetent guard: omega,  bonded and female.

The brunette approached him and, without hesitation grabbed him by both his arms and held him down with a strong grip. Her fingers were calloused from holding a gun. Jim gave no resistance, he only continued singing.

The blonde guard used her nails to press down on his cheeks and force his mouth open. Jim did not wince, drawback, or so much as acknowledge the action. He let his mouth hang open in a show of mock obedience and waited.

A small pink pill and a yellow tablet were extracted from a bottle by the guard’s left hand, protected with a latex glove. She held it right in front Jim’s face and set it down on the back of his throat with caution.

“Be good,” she said “Take it and we’ll leave you alone for now.”

It took self-control that he did not have to not bite her finger off right there, to punish her for her condescending tone. So he settled for just biting her, his teeth holding her until she was whimpering and trying desperately to make him let go.  The other guard hit the back of his head with something and then pinched his nose until he was forced to stop. The woman was bleeding.

The laughter in his head grew louder.

_Ha ha ha ha._

They wouldn’t let his nose go until he swallowed, so he did just that and gave the guards a fake panicked look when they didn’t release him right away. They checked if he had taken the pills, both keeping their hands away from his mouth as much as possible but having no problem digging their nails on the hollow of his cheeks. Jim showed them his tongue mockingly until they released him.

They didn't turn back. The bleeding guard stepped out of the cell without another comment, still holding her hand tightly against her chest. The other one simply pointed towards the food tray and then too exited the cell, closing the door behind her and not looking back.

“Oh girls, you leaving so soon? Daddy wanted to plaaaaaaay.”

"I will kindly ask you to stop terrorising my employees Mr. Moriarty."

Jim turned his head to the source of the voice and a horrifying grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Ah Mycroft, so kind of you to pay me a visit, finally. After abducting me, I thought you'd be more polite."

"I have many obligations Mr. Moriarty, and not all of them include dealing with you," retorted Mycroft.

"Liar~" Hissed Jim. "We both know that somehow everything you have ever had to deal with as a security threat has come from me, directly or indirectly."

"You think too much of yourself Sir, arrogance never took anyone too far. Now, we should get to business am I right? We wouldn't want to spoil your busy schedule." Mycroft pointed with his umbrella to the still untouched food on the table and then leaned against the wall, one leg crossed in front of the other. "They tell me you have hardly eaten Mr. Moriarty, and that you refused to say anything to my people. Is that correct?"

"And what makes you think that you will be the one I will finally speak to?"

"I never implied such a thing. I only wish to know why your steak is untouched every night."

"Yet you still ask. And you will give the order to torture me the moment you step outside. Even though we both know I won't say anything unless I want to say it." Jim stood up from the bed and walked the to the small desk table. He frowned at the rice and mashed potatoes with sausage on the place, but his smile lighted up at the sight of a cup filled with chocolate pudding. He grabbed the spoon and took a mouthful.

"We heard rumours, about what your organization has been up to Sir, I'm sure you know we are all very concerned about it."

Mycroft's lips pursed together in a frown, and he stared right into Moriarty's eyes as the man ate spoonful after spoonful of pudding without touching anything else. His alpha instincts were strong right now, it was hard to ignore an omega being treated the way Moriarty was, even if he looked less defenceless than anyone he had ever seen . It went against all that his nature told him it should be.

That smirk grew until it had reached almost comical proportions, there was madness blended into it so ascetically.

"Oh no, don't tell me this is how we will play this."  Mycroft's scent must have increased as he tried brushing off his protective instincts; it was as if Moriarty was reading his mind. "You will put the 'Mr. big Alpha' show for me, then I will tell you everything no?" Jim laughed, the echo hitting the walls and sounding even louder than it originally was. "I suspected you may be boring, but I at least thought you would be a challenge, how pathetic. The ice-man, melting over a trapped omega, bu bu."

But Mycroft had become good at ignoring this kind of useless sentiment. There was no use to it. Moriarty wasn't his mate or even just a random omega, he was a criminal. He didn't have to pity him.

"I see there won't be any cooperation from your part Mr. Moriarty, no matter what we say. But, you do seem more talkative with me. So you can expect a visit from me, very soon." He turned to leave, his umbrella swinging on his arm. It had been an unproductive visit, but that was expected, and almost welcomed. Mycroft only wanted to get a feel of Moriarty's overall state. He hadn't even counted on the man talking to him; that right there had been a win.

"Giving up already? So dull. But what if I told you that I will tell you everything you want to know?"

That made him stop in his tracks and half turn around. Moriarty had moved from the table to the door of his cell, his face against the glass , a full blown challenge painted in his eyes.

"And what is the catch here Mr. Moriarty?" Said Mycroft, his voice calm.

"Let's talk about Sherlock Holmes."

That... wasn't right.

"I beg your pardon?"

 


End file.
